


Or Die Trying

by britomart_is



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Bad Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Sexual Frustration, imperfect sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:33:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britomart_is/pseuds/britomart_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think we did it wrong."</p><p>Sam and Dean have sex. Contains mild injury to both body and dignity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or Die Trying

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [不断尝试](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064333) by [IvySnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvySnow/pseuds/IvySnow)



> Russian translation available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/966622).

//

 

_Day 1._

 

It was Dean who suggested it one morning over a microwaved gas station breakfast, not long after a slow, silent wake-up blowjob that left him sweaty and stupid. 

He always resisted the urge to ask how Sam knew how to do that so well. Seriously. Earthshaking. No complaints on that front. But the thing is, they'd been doing this for three months, and he'd gotten to thinking…

"I think we should have sex."

Sam looked up at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. His mouth hung open, revealing a mouthful of breakfast burrito. 

"Wha?" A piece of egg tumbled from the corner of Sam's mouth, landing on his shirt. 

Dean made a face and reached over to brush it off. "I think we should have sex. Y'know. The real kind."

Sam swallowed his food, looking perplexed. "As opposed to all metaphorical sex we've been having so far?" 

Dean really kind of wanted to hit Sam for making him say it. "Sam, what we've been doing—it's good. It's great. The handjobs are great. The blowjobs are great. You humping my leg till you come in your pants is great. But don't you think there's something else we might try?" 

Sam's brow creased. "You mean like, bondage?"

Huh. Something to think about. But not the topic at hand. Jesus _Christ_ , sometimes Sam was so dense. 

"Oh, come on, Sam! Did they not give you Sex Ed at Stanford? Your cock, my ass!" Dean shifted in his chair. "Or, y'know, my cock and your ass. Whichever. I think we should do it." 

"Sex Ed was in sixth grade, dumbass." Sam scowled. "And anyway, I missed that week. Dad dragged us off to go hunt … pixies or something, I don't know." He slumped in his chair. "Besides, it was Oklahoma. I don't think there was a unit on gay sex. With your brother."

"Well, you missed it, so I guess you'll never know." Dean put on his convincing face. "But seriously, let's do it. We've done everything else, right? Time to get with the fucking."

"Like … right now?" Sam looked really, really uncomfortable. Which was pretty hilarious, but only if it didn't interfere with getting his cock up Dean's ass. Soon. 

"No, not right now, genius. We need to go talk to the coroner. Check out the bodies. Waste this … whatever it is. And then shower forever, 'cause you still smell like fuckin' formaldehyde."

"Jerk," Sam said darkly as he brushed crumbs off his shirt and stood up. 

Dean would have had a really snappy comeback, but then his phone rang and it was the morgue assistant and it turned out that one of the bodies had gotten up off the table the night before and started choking the now-deceased coroner … so the hunt took precedence for a while. And Dean mostly forgot about the sex thing. 

As it turned out, Sam didn't. 

 

_Day 7._

 

When Dean blearily opened his eyes, only the faintest light was beginning to peek through the curtains. Something was glowing in the semi-dark of the room. Even if it was some horrible glowing _thing_ there to rip them to shreds and eat their entrails, it was too fucking early to be bothered. Dean rolled over to see Sam staring intently at his laptop, face lit up by the glow of the screen. 

Sam didn't even seem to hear him when he climbed out of bed (no squeaky springs, for once) and padded over to the table. Dean squinted at whatever had Sam so entranced, eyes still adjusting. When he realized what he was seeing, for a second he thought he was still dreaming. 

"What the fuck, Sam?"

Sam started so hard he almost fell out of his chair. 

"Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Dean, don't sneak up on me!" Sam's hands shot to the laptop to close the lid. Dean stopped him, grabbing a wrist. 

"I was just walking over here like a normal person, Sammy. Not my fault you were so wrapped up in your gay porn." Finally emerging from his sleepy fog, Dean couldn't stop the grin spreading over his face. 

"It isn't gay porn," Sam said under his breath, still trying to shut the lid.

Dean jerked the laptop away and scanned the screen, scrolling down to see more of the same graphic and—whoa, athletic—sexual positions. "Okay, photos of naked men having sex, I totally see how that's not porn." 

Sam dropped his forehead to the table in resignation. "It's supposed to be educational."

"What now?"

"It's … here, look." Sam leaned over and flipped to an open window with a lot more text. Dean's gaze flicked over the page, taking in the paragraphs, bullet points and captioned photos. 

"Sam, are you … _researching_?"

"What? No!"

Dean arched an eyebrow.

"I guess you could call it—" Sam made a face. "Oh, come on, it's not like you can just—stick it in and start humping." 

"I'm actually pretty sure those are the important parts. Need me to draw you a diagram? That more your speed?"

"I'm not gonna let you fucking _maim_ me, Dean."

"How about you maim me, then?"

"… Oh. Uh." Sam visibly searched for words, squirming in his seat. "Okay, well, that's not the point."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, Sammy. I get it. Lube. Tantric fuckin' breathing. Lamaze, I dunno, whateverthehell. There'll be no mortal wounding. No embarrassing death-by-assfucking obituaries."

He leaned in over Sam's shoulder and scrolled to the filthiest pictures. "Now, there's porn to be looked at."

Fingers playing at the nape of Sam's neck, Dean glanced down at the table. His eyes caught on a scattered pile of motel stationery covered in Sam's illegible scrawl. 

Oh sweet Jesus.

"Are you taking _notes_?"

"Um. Yes?" Sam's words came out a question. Dean didn't even try to hold in the cackle that burst out of him, doubling him over. 

"Dude, you—" Dean wheezed through his laughter—"You took notes on _porn_!" 

Dean wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, trying to compose himself, but when he looked up and saw Sam's affronted expression he started all over again. " _You took notes on porn_!" 

Sam sat up and pushed his chair back—oh man, and he was pulling out his best Pissy Exasperated Face. Dean made a manly noise that couldn't possibly be classified as a giggle. 

"You're a jerk. And it's just—way too fucking early to deal with you. I'm going back to bed," Sam said, face pink.

Getting his breath back, Dean watched Sam crawling back in bed and turning away from him. He bit his lip as he let his eyes roam over the length of Sam's body. Mmm. Biteable. Fuckable. Definitely.

Really, it was still early. The only logical choice was to go back to bed. 

Dean slid between the sheets, wrapping an arm around Sam. 

"You're hot when you're sulky," he said into Sam's ear, licking at the skin just behind it.

Sam turned in Dean's arms, looking wary but still pressing closer to him. 

Dean leaned down to nip at Sam's throat as he snaked a hand into Sam's boxers, fingers wrapping around warm flesh. He smiled against Sam's skin at the feeling of Sam hardening under his hand. 

Dean _hmm_ 'ed thoughtfully as he sucked at Sam's neck before pulling away to look him in the eye.

"You do know this officially makes you the biggest geek ever, right?"

Sam's heavy-lidded eyes flew open. "That's it. You are getting _no_ action today."

Dean tightened his grip, stroking Sam hard, and felt Sam's cock responding to his touch anyway. His thumb circled the head teasingly. Sam's eyelashes fluttered, his scowl wavering.

Dean kept his expression serious. "No, really. I'm not sure I can have sex with someone that geeky. This could be a problem."

"Dean," Sam growled.

"I mean, I have a reputation to maintain."

"I hate you," Sam said, but a moment later he thrust up into Dean's hand, gasping.

Dean chuckled and kissed him quiet.

Oh, yeah. Fucking was going to be awesome.

 

 _Day 9._

 

Dean quickly closed out of his MySpace window when he saw Sam heading back towards the library computer area. His brother was shuffling through an armful of papers, obviously concentrating hard. 

"You find a hunt? Anything in the newspaper?" Dean asked. 

Sam dropped heavily into the chair beside him. He unloaded his armful onto the table between them. "No, I've been doing research."

Dean shuffled through some of the papers. "What kind of—whoa!" He dropped the illustrated page like it was a hot coal. "Sam, what the hell is that?" 

Sam turned the page around and squinted at the caption. "That's a sphincter." 

Dean just stared, searching for words. _The hunt's finally gotten to him. Sammy's gone round the bend._ He lowered his voice. "Okay, it's a sphincter. Why am I holding a picture of it?" 

Sam looked at him like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I thought you said you were okay with the research thing. I couldn't find good anatomy photos on the internet; it was all porn. So I thought I'd look here." 

It took Dean's brain a moment to catch up. Three, two, one – "Oh." Dean palmed his face, flustered, and glanced around at the other library patrons. 

"Jesus, the sex research?" Dean spoke just above a whisper. "Don't you think this is going a little overboard?" 

"I'm very thorough."

"Right. Um." Dean ran a hand through his hair, taking a long, slow breath. "Look, will you just put that away before you make me hurl?"

"What? Dean, it's just a sphincter. We all have them," Sam said, voice carrying in the small space.

Dean winced. "Jesus, keep it down!"

Sam glanced around, seeming to realize for the first time that they were still surrounded by people. He grimaced sheepishly. "Oh. Sorry."

Jesus fucking Christ. "Where the hell did you get all this?"

"Medical books, mostly. A couple from the sexuality/self-help section. I just made photocopies." 

Sam gestured toward a copy machine behind a counter, which was manned by an attractive and youngish librarian. At just the wrong moment the woman glanced up and caught Dean looking at her. Her gaze drifted to Sam, then back to Dean, and she smiled. She winked at Dean with a knowing look. 

Dean willfully refrained from killing Sam and reminded himself that the end result of all this would be orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms. 

Dean pushed back from the computer.

"Okay, Sammy, I think we're done here for today. I can't find a hunt and I'm guessing you didn't even look. Get your … sphincter pictures."

It wasn't until outside on the street, when Dean glanced over at Sam and saw his lips twitching uncontrollably, that he realized he'd been played. 

"Oh, you little bitch." 

So Sam wasn't a completely oblivious and slightly unhinged asshole, he was just a publicly-humiliating-his-brother asshole. 

Sam let the grin grow on his face. "Revenge is sweet, Dean." 

Dean let out a breath. "Does this mean we can get rid of all that crap?"

"Hell no, I'm serious." Sam paused. "Well, okay, not about the sphincter thing. Those can go."

 

When Dean sent Sam out for food later that night, it's not like he was planning to sneak a look at the photocopies or anything. They were just sitting right there. In a folder in Sam's closed bag. 

He had to scramble to get the papers out of sight when he heard Sam's key in the door. So, okay, maybe he got a little wrapped up in reading them. Maybe.

Point was, Dean was clearly a freakin' genius. Fucking was the best idea ever. Maybe the answer to world peace, even. When he carefully ignored the nasty anatomical stuff, it was just—really, really hot. 

Dean's vague idea that after three months they should be fucking was quickly blossoming into a more detailed scenario, embellished by the visuals from Sam's pornographic research. Dean could almost _feel_ it as he imagined Sam taking him from behind, that strong, freakishly large body weighing down on him. He considered the image of Sam lying back as Dean rode him. 

Sam dropped the greasy paper sack on the table. "What's up?"

Dean cleared his throat and adjusted himself in his pants. 

 

 _Day 11_. 

 

Dean's world was swiftly narrowing to _hot_ and _wet_ and the sight of Sammy on his knees. Dean braced himself with a hand on each side of the shower, wishing they had a little more room. He let himself lean back against the tile as the strength drained out of him with each suck and swipe of tongue.

Dean was so boneless and loose from pleasure that Sam's finger slid into his ass with next to no resistance. He jerked a little at the sudden intrusion, but couldn't bring himself to care when those lips were still stretched around his cock. To his dismay, Sam pulled away and looked up at him.

"Okay?"

"Get back down there."

Sam's lips twisted into a smirk before he bent his head to lick at Dean's cock, swallowing him down, taking him deep. 

Dean bit his lip as he tried not to thrust forward into Sam's mouth. He was too far gone to really even notice the finger – awkward but not unpleasant – gently stroking and stretching inside of him. 

Sam brought him off that way and stood to kiss along Dean's neck and face, the stream of water pattering down on them. 

"Well. That was new," Dean said when he could talk again.

Sam murmured his assent as he wiped a stray drop of come from his chin. "Starting small. We'll be fucking in no time."

 

_Day 14._

 

Dean lay flat on his back, eyes on the water-stained ceiling, with two of Sam's fingers stretching and curling inside of him. 

"… So I'm figuring, we do another two days with two fingers, and then three days with three fingers, and then you'll be ready for my cock. Dean? You listening?" 

"Uh huh," Dean said tightly. "Sam, are you sure we couldn't just … go for it? People do this all the time, it doesn't have to be such a production." 

Sam's face dropped, and … oh God, the eyes. He was using the don't-kick-the-puppy eyes. Bastard. 

"Come on, Dean, I just want to do this right." He leaned in, gently biting down on Dean's earlobe, lips ghosting over the angle of his jaw. "Humor me? Just a little longer?"

Dean shuddered, leaning involuntarily into the warmth of Sam's mouth. "No fair asking me to agree to things when you've already got me naked and horny."

"Is that a yes?"

"All right, we stick to the official schedule. I just wanna get to the good part."

Sam's smile was brilliant. "It'll be worth it, I promise." 

Dean turned his eyes to the space between his legs where Sam's hand was disappearing. He was barely half hard, and on Sam's insistence, lube was _everywhere_ , drying on his thighs, making slick sounds as Sam's fingers slid in and out. 

"So, is this doing anything for you? How's it feel?" Sam's fingers twitched and scissored and Dean's internal muscles tightened around them. 

Dean gasped.

"Good, oh god, right there! Don't stop, Sam, so good—"

Sam's eager smile brightened even more. "Yeah? It's that good?"

Dean dropped the porn star act. 

"Not really. It's kinda uncomfortable, actually." 

Sam's face fell. "Nothing feels good?"

"It feels like you have your fingers up my ass."

Sam sighed and pulled his fingers out, wiping them on the turned-down bedspread. "It's all right. We'll try again tomorrow." 

Dean squirmed, half-hard and sticky. "And right now?"

The sparkle returned to Sam's eyes as the corners of his mouth quirked up, and he slid slowly down Dean's body. Dean hummed happily and settled back into the pillow as Sam began licking him to hardness. 

 

_Day 20._

 

Dean wrinkled his nose as Sam pulled out. Sam threw out the condom and settled next to him on the bed silently. Dean kept his eyes on the ceiling. _Please, please let him say it first—_

"I think we did it wrong." 

Dean let out the breath he'd been holding. "You too?"

"Yeah. I mean, it was – well, it felt good. Obviously. But isn't it supposed to be … more? There are supposed to be fireworks."

"Definitely no fireworks."

Sam looked miserably down at Dean's flaccid cock. "Apparently not." He dropped his face into the pillow. His voice came out, muffled: "It'll be better next time, okay? We just need to … practice, or something." 

"Sam, you _practice_ the piano. You practice bow-hunting. Not the same. And stop that, you're gonna smother yourself." Dean grabbed a handful of hair and pulled Sam's face from the pillow. "And that would be kind of a turn-off."

Sam flipped over and stared at the ceiling. Dean looked up at it too, trying to think of something to say. Winchesters did not fail. At anything. Certainly not at sex. _Fuck_. 

Dean saw his dreams of fucking on the hood of the Impala drifting away from him. Oh God. And fucking in the backseat of the Impala. And on the ground near the Impala. 

Sam interrupted his wistful thoughts. "Maybe we should just give it up. I mean, we did fine before with just blowjobs. And it's not like we can miss it if we've never really done it."

"No. No way. Are you insane?" Dean rolled onto his side and glared openly at Sam. "For one, there is no way in hell we're giving up now after you and your fingering _schedule_ and your _sphincter pictures_ —" 

Sam winced. 

"And two, come on! Are you seriously gonna be able to stop thinking about it now? You so want in my ass." Dean straddled Sam, wriggling pointedly before leaning down with a stern look. "No settling for blowjobs. We're gonna have awesome mind-blowing sex or we're gonna die trying."

"At least we'll die happy. Well, um, hopefully."

"That's the spirit."

 

 

_Day 23._

 

Sam pushed the door open with his hip, both hands full. He set his offerings of takeout and painkillers on the bedside table, brushing aside diagrams of complicated sexual positions. He looked tentatively up at Dean through the hair that fell over his eyes. 

"So, um … how you doing, man?"

Dean glowered and adjusted the ice pack against his groin. "I'm sitting here with a pulled muscle from trying to do your damn acrobatics, that's how I'm doing, you freak." 

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched. "I'm sorry, man. I really thought some new positions might help us get the right angle or something. The website said it would be really good." 

"Next time we're not listening to the website." Dean leaned against the headboard as he opened up a takeout box, sniffing at the chow mein. He adjusted his ice again, shifting uncomfortably. "Fuck."

Sam nodded. "You're right. The internet is unreliable. From now on, we're sticking to better sources." 

Dean thumped his head against the headboard and counted to ten. Stupid fucking sources and their stupid fucking advice. What the fuck? Dean just wanted his little brother to fuck him senseless. Was that really so much to ask?

Oh well. Might as well make the best of things. "You and your sources wanna come over here and take my mind off of it?"

Sam's guilty look faded as his eyes lit up. He set Dean's ice aside and tugged his boxers down carefully. 

"That's better."

 

 

 _Day 25._

 

"Sam, I'm going to pretend you didn't just quote a statistic in bed."

"Sorry."

"You gonna apologize or fuck me?"

"…"

"Ah -- oh. Good choice."

 

 

_Day 26._

 

At 2:45, they stopped at a convenience store to get some food for the road. Sam was very excited to see honest-to-God _fruit_ alongside the chips and beef jerky. 

From 2:51 to 2:53, Sam ate a banana. 

Dean tried not to run them into oncoming traffic when his eyes kept drifting over to the passenger seat.

At 2:54, Dean glanced at the clock as he pulled the car off the highway and onto the shoulder, sending gravel flying everywhere. Sam looked at him quizzically, and then groaned as Dean pushed him back onto the bench seat, straddled his thigh and started grinding into him. 

At 2:56, Sam came in his pants. 

At 2:57, biting Sam's neck, Dean followed. 

There was a moment of quiet as their breathing steadied, broken only by the pings of the cooling engine and the sound of cars rushing past. Draped over Sam, Dean felt the abrupt rise and fall of Sam's chest as he sighed heavily. 

"Dean, this is bad. We shouldn't be this sexually frustrated."

"Why not?"

"Because I fucked you twice last night and once this morning."

" … We have healthy appetites?"

 

 

_Day 27._

 

"Jesus Christ, Sam, stop making your concentrating face."

"I _am_ concentrating."

"It's the face you make when you're reading about the history of cattle mutilation. You can't make it when you're fucking me. Stop it." 

"You're so fucking bossy."

"I'm just older and wise—ah!"

"Prostate?" 

"Mmhmm."

"Good! Good, that's … am I still getting it?"

"Uh, no. You have to go back to what you were doing before."

"God, you feel good. Like this?"

"Um … not quite …"

"Right? Left?"

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Sam, I don't know, this is ridic—wait, fuck, _fuck_ , do that, just keep doing what you're doing!"

"Yeah?"

"Ah, yeah …" 

"Fuck, Dean, you're so— _fuck_ , Dean!"

"Like that, like that, _come on_ …"

"Come on, man, come on, come for me, yeah?"

"Nngghhh."

"Oh God. Oh God. Yes, _fuck_ , Dean!"

"Unh."

"Whew."

"That was …" 

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah." 

"…"

"…"

"At least you got me off this time."

"We'll keep trying."

 

 

 _Day 30._

 

About halfway through digging up Millicent Harper's grave, Sam took off the first of his hundred layers of shirts. By the time their shovels hit the coffin, he was down to a thin T-shirt, soaked through with sweat. 

Dean was focused on the job, he really was. It's just that Sam was _right there_ , with his face all flushed, and the tendrils of sweaty hair clinging to his temples, and his arms straining, and the muscles in his back flexing, and the heavy breathing … 

A little uncomfortable with desecrating graves while sporting a raging hard-on, Dean took a break and let Sam finish up burning the bones and filling the grave back in with dirt. 

As he admired the view from behind Sam, Dean decided that his patience had officially run out. Weeks, _weeks_ of valuable time were already wasted, time that could have been spent fucking. A lot. With no diagrams or bullet points. 

Time to change strategies. No, fuck that—no more strategies of any kind, not anymore. 

Dean nodded and bit his lip. Time to get fucked. 

On the drive back to the motel, Dean couldn't stop fidgeting, the seat squeaking under him as he shifted. He rolled his window down, trying to get some air flowing so he could breathe, cool off. 

"Dude, are you okay?" Sam finally asked. 

"I'm fine, Sammy," Dean said, a little more abruptly than he really meant to. Maybe he should just pull over right there. Back seat? No, spread across the hood? Fuck yeah. No, fuck. Motel. Right. Get Sammy in bed. Yeah. Get Sammy _inside._ Yeah. Little privacy. Plenty of time. With Sammy. In bed. Fucking _now_. Christ.

In the parking lot, Dean almost fell out of the driver's side door, coming around to grab a fistful of Sam's T-shirt. He pulled Sam away from the equipment he was trying to gather up. 

"Leave it."

"The car's gonna smell like grave dirt, we've gotta—"

"Leave. It." 

Miraculously, Sam shut up for a minute, just until they were in their room. 

"Dean, what the fuck, man, are you mad at me?"

"Take off your clothes."

Sam looked startled. "You—"

"Off. All of them. Get on the bed." Dean was already stripping. " _Now_ , Sam!" 

Sam moved faster than he had all night, clothes rustling quietly as they dropped the floor, a grin curling up the corner of his mouth as he flopped naked onto the bed. "Hey, do you think we should try—" 

"No, I don't," Dean interrupted. "Whatever it is, just no."

Sam's smile faded a little. "But Dean—"

"Sam." Dean settled on the side of the bed and leaned in, breath coming quick and hot in Sam's face. "Just this once, will you please, please just shut up and fuck me?"

Sam's mouth fell shut. He nodded mutely, wide-eyed. 

"Okay then." Dean kissed him, hard.

Dean pulled the lube from the bedside drawer before climbing onto Sam, straddling his hips and pushing until Sam was lying back against the sheets. He couldn't help taking a moment to stare at the long body stretched out and waiting for him. 

Sam looked … like he'd spent the evening digging up a grave. Smears of dirt decorated his face. The car ride had cooled him down, but Dean could still smell Sam's sweat, the smell of Sam's working body filling the room. 

"Fuck, Sammy, you're so fucking hot," Dean said, feeling like he could come any second. He decided that a night of watching Sam dig was teasing and foreplay enough. Quickly and efficiently, he squeezed lube onto his fingers and jacked Sam until he was slick and thrusting up against Dean's hand. 

"Hold yourself steady for me."

Sam watched Dean with bright eyes as he obeyed, circling a hand around the base of his cock. Dean's legs, already tired and sore from the hunt, trembled a little as he rose up. He paused just long enough to lock eyes with Sam before sinking down on his cock in one long slide until he was fully seated, feeling Sam's hipbones pressing into his thighs. 

Dean watched Sam's eyelashes flutter against his cheeks once, twice, and then he started moving. He was _almost_ too tired for this, burning muscles threatening to give out each time he rocked up and forward. It was fucking perfect. He ground down against Sam, feeling every inch of him deep inside, and couldn't help the choked, pleased sound that burst out of him. 

Sam's eyes flicked open, and Dean felt large hands grasping his hip, his ass, supporting his weight as he rolled his hips. Sam's breath grew ragged as he began meeting Dean thrust for thrust. 

Dean had to drop forward, resting some weight on a shaking arm, palm flat on the sheets by Sam's shoulder. Suddenly strong arms were wrapping around him, and Dean's breath flew out of him as Sam reared forward, knocking him backward until his back hit the sheets. 

Dean felt low, wordless noises forcing their way out of his throat as Sam moved more quickly above him, pushing deeper still. Nothing could be better than the thrust in, as Sam filled him up, but the drag as he slid out had Dean shaking, shivering. Sam was grunting, sweaty, filthy above him, and for just a moment Dean's brain screamed at him _lovelovelove_ , but then his eyes met Sam's and thought disappeared as Dean gasped and came. 

Some time later, Dean wasn't sure how long, awareness returned. He was immobilized, wrapped up in Sam's long limbs. Sam shifted to look him in the eyes. 

"Yeah?"

Dean swallowed and nodded, tangling fingers into Sam's hair and pulling him back down to rest on Dean's chest. 

"Yeah."

Dean felt lips just barely brush his shoulder.

 _This is how it's supposed to be_ , he had time to think before his eyes fell shut.

 

//


End file.
